I want to be like Paul, preaching with conviction, able to sacrifice everything because I know, just know the truth. I want to be able to put aside my needs, let go of my own concerns and worries, trust all of those to God, get on with the work of His kingdom. Wanting is not enough. Rather, I am more of a psalms woman, one day lamenting, the next shouting out my joy for all the world. I am a psalm, when I grow up I want to be a gospel. I worry that I am running out of time, that I am stuck in my ways, that I am never going to get there. I can’t even seem to move to the wisdom of proverbs.
I have heard that those who convert to anything are more passionate than those who were raised in that particular thing. Making the conscious choice seems to be the key. Paul had a run in with Jesus that he couldn’t deny, he chose not to anyway. He decided to change his entire life, what an embarrassing about face that must have been, if he had cared. I justify my “Un-Paulness” by imaging that God infused a bit of Himself that day, giving an otherworldly power to Paul. Something I lack, if only I had that extra spark, had been hit by the zap of God to cure my blindness. Alas, having grown up in the faith, I have always been able to see.
The truth that God only took away what was blocking Saul from seeing, allowed him to truly SEE is some honesty I try to avoid. I wear my blinders and go about my days, lamenting, yearning, crying out to my Lord. I lift up my joys, give credit to God, I know His hand is at work. Stuck in the raging emotions of the psalms, I forget that I can uncover my eyes at any time. I can choose to be all in, I can make the leap like Paul. Instead I stumble, bump into the obstacles in my life, fall down and scrape my knees. My arms stay straight in front of me, reaching to find walls, stability, looking for something to hold on to. This blindness doesn’t allow my arms to ever open wide to the side, a posture of trust and welcoming, a stance of complete submission.
Plum and I often wrap a bandana around one of us, the other leads through the room. We follow the other’s voice, try to avoid stubbed toes, cracked heads as we wander about. He thinks it is funny to trick me, his commands often a bit slow as I head for disaster. I pretend horror, anger as I bonk into tables. I shout gladness when I reach the promised land of a safe chair. I am forced to peek a bit to ensure lamps stay upright. I lead him to the couch and soft areas, then of course cover him in pillows. I think he peeks as well. Being in the dark and trusting an ornery guide is certainly not safe. We each trust ourselves more. He thinks we are playing a game, I know we are simulating my life.
I cry out that I cannot see, I bemoan that I am lost, I ask for answers. I am stuck in the Psalms, raging emotions ruling my soul. I don’t know if I will ever stop bumping into my life, if I will ever really turn it all over to God. Jesus still walks with me, listens to my own psalms, holds my hand up the stairs. Maybe one day I will be more of a gospel girl. Today I am still crying out under my blinders. After all, Paul was called to travel and preach but not to parent. He never was called to be a mom. The only way I can survive that calling is to keep the bandana on, feel my way, peek out when I am unsure. I listen for God’s voice to lead me, avoiding the sharp edges, as I head for the promised land.
Photo credit to Pastor Pat Sleeth, who has done his share of bonking into things but figured out how to find the Light.